One thing I love more than nearly anything else is spending time outdoors. I love cycling, trail running, backpacking, hiking, climbing, paragliding, skiing, the list goes on and on. Anything that will get me out the door of my apartment and outside. In talking about my passion, I’ll take all of the outdoor activities that I enjoy and lump them under the term, “running around in the mountains”. The term seems to simply describe the right confluence of immersion in the beauty of the natural world and pushing against my own limits (sometimes the running is metaphorical, and sometimes not).

I’ve been “Running around in the mountains” nearly for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, there were miles and miles of forest out my back door. I remember being really young and adventuring out into the woods alone with a walkie-talkie, calling my mom every 5 minutes to check in and make sure I didn’t exceed the radio’s range. That short leash slowly grew until I was heading off on my own to build tree forts in the forest. Winters brought sledding expeditions, which turned into backcountry skiing as I got into high school. I didn’t know about alpine touring gear (and there’s no way I could afford it), so I would trudge out and up into the hills in my downhill boots, carrying my skis over my shoulder. I would sinking up to my knees in the fresh snow as I made my way up through the forest, then lock into my skis at the top and take the uninspiring 2 minute ride down to where the slope flattened out.

My backyard was the size of the Yukon to a 9 year old Rob, and I appreciated it as such. Through high school and college, I explored the Green Mountains and the White Mountains, hiking trails, climbing, skiing and backpacking. They’re two lush, gorgeous ranges, forever embedded in my mind with their characteristic hardwood trees, mud pits and trails that go straight up the steepest parts of the hills. I then fell in love with the Sierra when living in Half Moon Bay and working an internship at Zipline. The only thing that kept me sane through that year was biweekly trips to the east; I skied in the winter and backpacked in the summer. After graduating from college, I returned and fell back in love with the Sierra while hiking the PCT. Getting back out to the range was a huge factor in my move from Boston last year. It’s such an incredible opportunity to be able to explore thousands and thousands of square miles of the most beautiful landscape you can find anywhere in the world.

In tandem to the landscape and the beauty is the challenge that the mountains offer. There’s a common saying I’ve heard throughout my life: “The mountains don’t care.” To venture out with a backpack, a set of skis or a wing is to sail into the ocean in a tiny boat. You are at the whim of your abilities, your judgement and your preparation. If you break your leg hopping boulder to boulder on a scree field 25 miles from the trailhead, you’re the only one who can get yourself out. If your binding breaks in 4’ of fresh snow, there’s no ski patrol to call. Running around in the mountains is a constant puzzle of situational awareness, risk assessment, problem solving, and balancing. You can go farther and faster if you carry less, but if you carry less you have fewer tools if things go south. Preparation is critical in your gear, and in your physical and mental strength. To travel safely is not to be an expert, but to be continually learning from everything around you.

To me, running around in the mountains is a marriage of these two incredible aspects of human existence. It’s standing on top of a peak, looking out at the explosions of pink and orange thrown up on the clouds as the sun sets, coupled with the demanding journey that it took to get there. It’s trudging through the rain, soaked and cold, but knocked off your feet by the new smell of the hardwood forest. It’s the sun catching your eye glinting off of the rime ice as you set your ski edges with everything you have to keep from sliding down the 1000’ ravine. It makes life worth living.